Only for You
by CityLites
Summary: How Daenerys reacts to discovering the one warm spot in the North: Winterfell's hot spring. And a predictably surly Jon being drawn in with her. / Jonerys smut for the people ;)


_**A/N:**_ **I posted this story to AO3 awhile back, but I'm adding it here to make sure my work is updated across both platforms. Thanks for reading!**

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"Just when were you planning on telling me about this?" Dany asks, arching a brow at him slyly.

"Just when were you planning on telling me about this?" Dany asks, arching a brow at him slyly.

"The hot spring?" Jon is incredulous. " _Why_? It's not all that comfortable out in the open like this, not in the middle of Winter."

"It looks warm to me," she remarks, unphased, stretching a hand out over the steaming pool.

"Sure, your body may be warm. But get your hair wet and it'll freeze, right there on your head."

Dany turns to him with laughter in her eyes. "Are you always this cheerful, Jon?"

He crosses his arms over his chest indignantly. "Fine. If you think I'm overreacting, go ahead. See for yourself."

"Splendid!" She steps up to the water's edge and removes one of her boots, hobbling precariously on one foot before dipping her newly-bare toe into the spring.

"Oooh," she croons, submerging the rest of her foot into the water. "That's _lovely._ "

She's smiling from ear to ear and Jon finds that he can't call her foolish, not when she's looking like that. There are so few reasons for her to smile now, with the war on. Dany is hard and proud and strong, but somehow she is also the dearest, gentlest person he has ever known. She deserves only happiness, and he is desperate to give it to her.

But then she removes her fine sable cape and begins fumbling at the laces up the back of her dress.

"Don't–," Jon protests weakly. She doesn't listen, of course. The Mother of Dragons is nothing if not her own master. She winks playfully at him before kicking off her other boot, shrugging off the red wool of the dress, stepping out of her smalls.

"What were you saying, Jon?" She asks innocently, her voice sweet as molasses as she turns to face him. But he can barely register her words. His brain won't seem to cooperate, not when her lithe body is bared to him, her porcelain skin and full breasts begging for his touch.

He is reminded suddenly of another woman, another hot spring–but that had been in different life. Ygritte was, would always be, special to him. But Dany is something more. She shouldered her way into the depths of his heart with her peculiar blend of ferocity and tenderness, and simply refused to leave. He is smitten with her.

Jon swallows, fumbling for words. When he finds them, his voice is high and strange. "You're going to catch cold. Come away from there and put your clothes back on."

Dany backs further into the spring until she is waist-deep. "Why don't you come over here and make me?"

"Dany …" The informal nickname still feels unnatural on his lips; but she asked that he call her that, and already Jon is sure he's incapable of refusing her anything she could ask of him. Well, _almost_ anything. "We shouldn't," he argues, not even convincing himself.

"Perhaps not. But that didn't stop you the last time," Dany observes, and her wicked grin chips away at his resolve.

"Aye," Jon chuckles. "Nor the time before that."

"Hmm. Why do you think that is?"

She's still teasing him, luring him in. Not that she has to try very hard. She's a vision. It's fitting that they're in the godswood, for Dany looks every bit the goddess. The silver curtain of her hair plays in the sunny afternoon glow, her snowy skin blushing prettily under Jon's scrutiny.

He sighs in resignation, yanking his gloves off at the fingers. He stoops to remove his boots, peeling his breeches from his hips, the shirt from his back.

Her face softens now that he's giving in, and she reaches out to him. They come together in the center of the spring, his hands finding hers, lacing their fingers together. The biting cold that assaults his bare flesh is chased away by the heat of the water, the warmth of her touch.

For all her big talk before, Dany seems suddenly nervous, and she lowers her violet gaze, almost shy. Jon smiles down at her, moving his hands up to her face, gently tilting it until their eyes meet. "Isn't it obvious?" he asks her.

"Obvious? What?"

"Isn't it obvious?" he repeats. "You asked why we keep … coming back to each other. Why I can't seem to stay away from you."

She nods silently, willing him to continue. What Jon wants to say terrifies him near as much as the army of the dead, but he finds strength and courage in her eyes.

"I love you, Dany."

She lets out an involuntary sound of surprise, something between a laugh and and sob, her eyes welling with tears.

A lump rises in Jon's own throat then. "I've always loved you. Even from that first day at Dragonstone, when you were cross with me because I wouldn't bend the knee. I loved your spirit. I still do. I–"

Dany lifts her delicate fingers to his lips, silencing him. "Show me," she pleads.

She does her best to stand on her toes in the muddy bottom of the spring, matching his height. She reaches up to tangle her fingers in his hair, pulling it loose from the knot he often wears, pressing her lips to his with a feverish intensity. Jon reciprocates eagerly, opening his lips to the soft heat of her tongue. Tasting the saltiness of her tears on her lips, he sighs into her mouth, lowering his hands to her hips and pulling her full up against him.

The brush of her body makes him shiver with longing, and already he's hard as iron for her. Dany feels him there against her belly and she breaks the kiss, gasping for air.

She's flushed and sweat-damp, the steam from the spring making her look ethereal, as if she could vanish from his grasp at any moment. And maybe, Jon thinks, that's the reason for the nearly frantic passion between them. That desperation, the fear, the knowledge that tomorrow isn't certain for either of them.

As if sensing his thoughts, Dany's hands tighten in his hair and her expression turns fierce. "I love you," she whispers.

Overwhelmed with a joy he didn't know existed, Jon hugs her to him possessively. He nuzzles against her neck, smelling the peculiar aroma of smoke and spice that is so singularly _Dany_. "I know," he assures her, his voice rough with emotion.

Her lips are on his again and she snakes a hand between them, her fingers finding his cock. She lingers there, stroking him the way she knows will make his bones go to jelly. Her touch has him panting, thrusting erratically against her. It's good, _so good_. But it isn't enough because she needs to feel it, too. He's aching to be inside her again, to drive those helpless little whimpers of pleasure from her lips.

So Jon reluctantly interrupts, taking her hand in his. He guides her to the far edge of the spring, to a large, smooth stone that protrudes up and out of the water. Dany's eyes are dark with desire as he boosts her up onto the rounded edge of rock, and she opens her legs to him readily. "Good girl," he murmurs, fighting the urge to take her right then and there.

But he's in no hurry, treasuring every opportunity to be with her this way, to lavish her with the pleasure and affection they've both gone so long without–the kind of intimacy that only exists between two people as deeply in love as they.

He lowers himself between her thighs and she drapes her knees over his powerful shoulders, her feet dangling in the water on either side of him. He leans in, exhaling softly against her sweet cunt, and she shivers. Jon grins, pleased at her responsiveness to his attentions. He turns to place a sloppy, open-mouthed kiss on her inner thigh, first on one side, then the other, and she's squirming impatiently.

He laughs. "Tell me, what is it you want, Dany?"

"Don't be cruel," she says breathlessly, and Jon obliges, dipping forward and putting his mouth on her at last. She rewards him with a contended sigh, visibly relaxing in his capable hands.

He knows her body well, now–knows just where and how to touch her, to lick her. He can finish her whenever he pleases. Instead, Jon takes his time, exploring every inch of her with his lips and tongue, _tasting_ her, kissing her, sucking her, until she's shaking and crying out, begging him unintelligibly. Her hands wind into his hair again as she holds him needfully against her with a greediness that makes him want her all the more. "You're insatiable," he observes before pressing his mouth to her again in earnest.

"Only … for you," she gasps, bucking her hips at every stroke of his tongue on her flesh. She comes apart with a wail that cuts through the humid air and Jon sits back, his face slick with her.

He helps her trembling to her feet and back into the warmth of the spring. Dany's eyes smolder up at him and she moves to kiss him gratefully, softly at first, but when her hands find their way to his length again he goes to putty in her arms. It isn't long before he feels the heady sensation bringing him to the edge, so he breaks away and spins her around in his arms so her back is to him. Jon fists the long, thick rope of her hair and moves it aside, kissing her roughly down the back of her neck as he urges her forward, bends her over the rock from before.

He takes her from behind, sliding slowly inside of her delicious tightness. The familiar heat and pressure of her makes him weak, lightheaded, and he groans out her name as he fills her completely. Every thrust pushes a quiet gasp from Dany and Jon revels in his ability to please her again, even as he takes his own pleasure.

It isn't the first time he's made love to her, and he hopes to the whatever gods there may be that it won't be the last. Every time they're together is so easy and so _right_. He wonders for the thousandth time what he did to deserve her, this beautiful, rare woman who inexplicably returns his love.

She pushes back to meet him with every move he makes, and the steady rhythm is almost _too_ good, the feeling too intense coupled with the stifling heat of the spring. Jon's about to tell her as much when she comes undone again, convulsing around him. "Oh, Jon," she sighs languidly. His name on Dany's lips is the sweetest sound and Jon finds his own release at last, spilling his seed inside her.

For a moment he laments the notion that it will never quicken there, that she will never bear him a son with her temper and his sword-arm. He'll never have a daughter with Dany's beauty and his stubbornness. But the moment passes when she stands and faces him, all the love in the world shining in her eyes.

He is reminded again of how glad he is to have her–this woman who gave him what his siblings, his father, his _titles_ had never quite managed to–a sense of belonging, a place, a purpose, _love_. Dany had been just as alone as he was, but they aren't alone anymore.

They dress quietly on the banks of the spring, Jon helping Dany to braid her long hair so the wet ends don't dampen her cloak or give her a chill. When they're finished he places a last kiss on her forehead before they head back to the castle, hoping their shared absence has gone unnoticed, but knowing better.

Dany reaches over to take his hand and they stroll together, hand-in-hand like two young lovers without a care in the world. He decides then it doesn't much matter what the other lords and ladies whisper behind their hands. He and Dany have bigger things to face than court gossip. And the realm would simply have to get used to it, because Daenerys Targaryen is his family now, and he has no intention of letting her go.

"So," she begins after a moment. "Are there any _more_ secrets in Winterfell I should know about?"

"I'll invent some if what just happened is any indication of your gratitude," he teases, squeezing her hand.

"'You're insatiable,'" she says mischievously, turning Jon's words around on him with a giggle.

He pulls her in, his heart full to bursting. "Only for you."

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 _ **A/N:**_ **Feel free to drop a comment if you liked it! I love hearing from you guys :)**


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